Observations from the North
Story and Photography by Linda Leeson
Even after nine trips from the bustle of the Toronto area to the tranquil, hedonistic pleasures of the British Virgin Islands, you’d think that we’d be accustomed to the changes that come with a change in latitude.
Given that many of us, whether in the metropolitan areas of Canada or elsewhere, live hectic corporate lives destined to rob us of independent thought and of all emotion, shouldn’t we be immune to the mystique of the islands?
From a corporate perspective, mystique is irrational; it’s a waste of time and wears off within days of your return so it doesn’t matter where you go, it’s all the same. Yet my husband and I, like many others, continue to make the long, arduous trek south from Toronto to the BVI to indulge our senses for seven to ten days of inane activities such as digging our toes deep into the sand to see where the warm sand ends and the cool sand begins or laying under a palm tree reading a book we promised to read months ago while inching our way hourly to follow the palm’s ever moving shadow.
With every trip, the same transformation takes place; the magic overtakes us after an hour at the Soggy Dollar Bar, the stress is washed away in the shallow blue waters of Savannah Bay and we can’t remember any Toronto cell phone numbers after a dreamy, ocean view massage at Little Dix Bay.
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[one_half_last]How did this happen? Are we really so desperate for respite? Do other Caribbean islands have this same effect on us or perhaps, it’s a BVI thing? Maybe “Nature’s Little Secrets” has a good reason to be kept a secret. Let’s explore these mindless thoughts while the keeper of the thatched roof bar lazily prepares a magically soothing libation with a typically naughty BVI name of “Painkiller”.
First, let’s consider the thought process of a CEO in the transportation logistics industry, who seems interested in the temperature variations of sand.
Secondly, let’s look at a civil engineer’s need for downtime with his family and their interest in the important structures that occupy any of the sixty islands and cays that comprise the BVI.
Then we’ll listen to why other islands, such as those visited by a plumbing wholesaler and his family, despite the islands’ concerted efforts and significant investments, just can’t do to us what the BVI does, seemingly, without effort.[/one_half_last]
First, to the CEO. Imagine the CEO’s corporate world of life and death decisions, financial transactions capable of collapsing weak European economies and the pressures associated with inopportune takeovers. How could someone so wired, so driven, so focused think twice about something as inane as sand. The answer becomes clear when we put ourselves in his position.
His body is on a lounge poolside at Leverick where he eases into his morning. When the sun begins to bother him, he moves the lounge to the edge of the small lagoon where infant fish swim around his ankles. He wanders the tiny beach looking for nothing.
He retires once more to the lounge. He thinks briefly about a pressing matter back at the office realising he has good people working for him and moreover, he trusts them. There’s a splash. His mind leaves the office and returns to the infant yellow tang in the lagoon. He leaves the lounge and sits in the sand wondering why he’s never sat in the sand before.
He knows he enjoys the sand, its warmth, its texture, its colour. He pushes his hands deep into the sand, as deep as he can manage, it’s no longer warmed by the sun. He pulls up a handful and rubs it along his legs, pale yet muscular from irregular workouts somewhere convenient to his office. He enjoys the sensation, the simplicity.
He casually nods a goodbye to the tang as he carries his cool treasure chair-side to his wife who’s working hard to enjoy a book that’s not keeping her attention. He shares his discovery with her and offers to bring the sand to their room and use it to rub her legs and arms…
She smiles a little wicked smile. They leave the pool area, it’s the middle of the day, and they’re on vacation.
Secondly, to the engineer who is suddenly not interested in the lack of building code adherence, proper set backs, load, or green buildings. What has captured his interest? Is it the variety of form, the uniqueness of each? Is it the simplicity of his surroundings?
He bends over again and picks up yet another example of this region’s environment. It’s perfect but so different from those over there. He shows his children. The three of them sit on a boulder weathered by the storms. There’s an easy peace here, where the water laps against their feet planted firmly on the shore of Prickly Pear Island just a short walk from the Sandbox.
His daughter slides down from her perch on the boulder; something in the water has caught her eye. Her father suggests caution; the combination of algae covered stones, small feet and uneasy balance is a dangerous mix. She reaches into the shallow, warm water squealing with delight as she appears to float over the stones returning to shore.
She’s talking, laughing, so proud to show her father the biggest, shiniest queen conch shell she has ever seen. It’s much bigger than her hand. Her brother believes it’s bigger than her head. She scowls at him. The father, who is anxious for his children to understand the value of what he does, starts to align their collected shells in order of size.
His children change the order several times so that the shells are arranged first by beauty, then by the size of their original inhabitant, then on their original distance from shore.
The father sits back and watches his children sort and re-sort the shells over and over again using new criteria each time; their criteria. He is so proud of his children but is concerned that they didn’t understand the essence of the lesson he was trying to teach them. He has a thought and becomes embarrassed. He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed because he thought like an engineer or if it’s because he didn’t have the thoughts of a great engineer, then he realizes that his children have taught him.
They have shown him that there are many different ways to look at one object. He smiles again; beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. He reaches out to his children and holds them tight. A tear forms finding its way along his smile lines. He doesn’t want this treasured memory to end and his mind starts planning their next trip to this magical place.
Thirdly, to the plumbing wholesaler and his family’s vacation to another Caribbean island down the chain instead of their usual trip to the BVI.
It was a gift, a trip from a parent, a family reunion for all to remember for years to come. Under a typical hot tropical sun on any island in the Caribbean, the adventure begins. The welcoming tropical music played by the live band greeted them as they waited in line at the immigration counter. It was joyful and festive at first, but after an hour of waiting in line, “island time” no longer applied.
There was no air conditioning, the open windows and doors did nothing to cool the air. The music, which was so welcome just a moment ago, was now repetitious and grating on their one last nerve. As the lines seemed to grow longer rather than shorter, young children lost what little patience they had, generating glares of others standing in the same line.
While the wholesaler and his family generally had a wonderful time on the island, the trip, somehow, did not improve to a degree that compared with their previous trips to the British Virgin Islands. The family talked about this to understand how this could be and collectively decided that the BVI was unlike any other place.
There were so many choices of where to go, what to do and how to get there, that no other place on Earth could compare. It wasn’t really fair when you thought about it; that one place on our blessed planet could be the best place, the most unique vacation whether for a party of ten adults, a multi-generational family, or a couple celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary. The BVI is truly the world’s best kept secret, and I promise, I won’t tell a soul.
[ts_fab]
